


Hush

by YoursTruly (Lyscey)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Frottage, M/M, Multi, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Quiet Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-25
Updated: 2015-03-25
Packaged: 2018-03-19 15:57:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3615750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lyscey/pseuds/YoursTruly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Sherlock, I don’t want him to hear us. He’ll wake up.”</p><p>“You’ll just have to be quiet then, won’t you?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hush

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PoppyAlexander](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PoppyAlexander/gifts).



> The darling Poppy Alexander and I, despite her departure from Tumblr, have been emailing and continuing to encourage each other to write ridiculous porn back and forth. This one took me way longer than it should have but real life was a bit stressful the last week or two so I just now finished it. Anyway, here we are!  
> Poppy asked for: “Johnlock, super hot for each other and ready to rock, but whuh-oh! They must keep it quiet. Stakes could go higher if one of them is purposely trying to make the other get loud, and/or if the person who might hear them *does* hear them and gets dirty with him/herself, but those bits are at yr discretion. Weirdly specific request that literally ANY scenario works for me here.”  
> I took this and ran with, probably more than she intended, and made it about my OT3. This story contains Sherlock/John, and periphery Sherlock/John/Greg established relationship. It is entirely porn with feelings. Yay!

John wakes slowly in the pitch-dark room. The blackout curtains Sherlock put up to accommodate their unpredictable sleeping schedules make it so he can hardly tell the difference between open and closed eyes. He’s still bone tired, but he’s becoming slowly aware that he’s starving, dehydrated to the point of a migraine, and in possession of a disgusting, slimy coffee residue on his tongue. He’ll never get back to sleep like this. He stretches a bit, trying to get more awareness of his bed partners, so he can decide how to best extricate himself.

John’s laying on his left side, arm stretched out in front of him so his shoulder isn’t compressed, forearm nestled comfortably under Greg’s neck. The older man has his back to John, rolled partially onto his stomach and snoring softly. He can feel Sherlock’s open-mouthed breathing on the back of his neck, the weight of one his legs on top of one of John’s, but otherwise the younger man is still as a stone. Both deeply asleep. Good.

He does his best to wake up fully; he doesn’t want to be clumsy and wake either of his partners as he gets out of bed. Moving quickly, but gingerly, he shuffles down the bed and off so he doesn’t have to climb over one of them. His toothbrush is calling to him, but he pauses a moment to watch them sleep. Greg snuffles into his pillow and circles his hips a bit, obviously missing John’s warmth. Sherlock’s fist clenches and unclenches in the sheets, a tiny frown appearing on his previously serene face. Almost in unison, they roll toward each other, as if John had left a gravity well when he moved from his spot and they’re both feeling it’s pull. When they settle again, Greg is on his back, arm draped over his own chest, while Sherlock insinuates his leg between Greg’s and nuzzles his nose and forehead against the other man’s shoulder.

John smiles down at them. They look like children: just the two of them, in only their pants, on that huge mattress (the biggest one they could find in London, on top of a custom platform bed Sherlock had made to fit it. When the sheets he’d ordered for it came, they were in a pristine box with a hand written label from a textile company in Dubai). He stares a moment longer before his stomach growls so loudly he startles. He pads the short distance to the door, opens it just enough to squeeze out, and shuts it soundlessly behind him.

It’s very early morning, the sky still mostly black with greyish light glowing behind the skyline to the East. There’s just enough light coming in the windows on the Baker Street side to illuminate the dust particles hanging in the air. He thinks of closing the curtains, but changes his mind; he’ll only be up long enough to eat a piece of toast, have a big glass of water, and brush his teeth. Then he can crawl back in bed with his lovers.

He steps softly into the kitchen. It’s darker in here, but he doesn’t switch on the light; he’s willing to risk stubbing his toe to keep the flat dark and quiet so Sherlock and Greg can rest. They sleep so rarely, the both of them, he’s always reluctant to let them sacrifice a minute. The case they wrapped up last night had been a big one. Nothing actually all that dangerous to any of them: gang related human trafficking. The biggest operation Greg had ever seen. No car chases, or shoot outs, or fist fights; just living victims (of the three of them, decidedly John’s area), a lot of paperwork (Greg), and a lot of brain work (Sherlock, obviously). John took care of young girls and boys as best he could and sent them off in ambulances while Greg and Sherlock ran around cataloguing evidence. He’d managed to catch a nap three times over the last four days while Greg and Sherlock went on working. The more they slept after all that, the better John would feel.

Moving gently, he places two slices of bread in the toaster and pushes the lever down slowly, until he feels it latch into place. He opens the ‘Glassware (Non-Laboratory)’ cabinet and retrieves one, then lets the door shut on his fingers to muffle the noise. He fills the glass from the tap and downs the whole thing a few large swallows, then refills it. Halfway through drinking that one too he hears a soft huff of breath and rustling of fabric behind him. Damn.

Sherlock is standing on the other side of the kitchen table, draped inelegantly in his red dressing gown, lower lip protruding and blinking at John like a kicked puppy.

“Sweetheart, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you. I’m not up for the day, I just need something to settle my stomach. Go back to bed, and I’ll be right there.”

Sherlock rounds his shoulders and bows his head so that, by the time he makes it to the other side of the table, he fits perfectly into John’s arms, forehead on his shoulder and chest to chest. John snorts a tiny laugh and smooths his hands over the fine silk.

“Can’t get by without both of us in the bed with you anymore?’

“Mmm. I can always tell when one of you isn’t where they’re supposed to be. Besides, Greg wouldn’t appreciate my sexual advances right now.”

John is distracted for a moment by the melting quality of that sleep-warmed, rumbling voice before Sherlock’s words catch up to him. He sighs.

“Sherlock, he got in at least an hour after us. He needs to rest after a case like that. If you woke him up asking for a blow job, I swear to  _Christ_ -”

“Greg is sleeping soundly, just as you left him. I wouldn’t wake him up just for sex. Well, not today anyway.”

Good humor returned, John begins to dig the tips of his fingers into the muscles of Sherlock’s shoulder blades and knead. “Does that mean you have designs on me, then?”

Sherlock’s response is to nuzzle into his neck, find a soft spot, and suck. The moan gets out before John can remember to choke it off.

“Lets go upstairs,” he says, soft and breathy.

“In my office? No.”

“Sherlock, I don’t want him to hear us. He’ll wake up.”

“You’ll just have to be quiet then, won’t you?”

John starts to protest, but Sherlock suddenly has his hands on the backs of his thighs and, after a deep breath, lifts him a few inches so he can be unceremoniously dropped onto the countertop. The dishes in the sink rattle and he clenches his teeth. “ _Shh!_ ”

He wants to chastise Sherlock further but those hands are now on his knees, pushing them wide apart to make plenty of room for Sherlock’s slim waist between them. John gasps as their hips slot together. They’re at just the right height like this for their erections to rub perfectly against each other. It’s a tease through both their pants, but such a delicious one John can’t complain.

Sherlock starts to move his hips in circles, rutting the whole, hard length of him against John. John’s breath quickens as his body starts to respond, aroused even more by the feeling of his own cock filling with blood. He runs his hands over Sherlock’s chest and arms, enjoying the softness, reveling in the simplicity of this, the almost-innocence of it. He steals a gentle kiss. Sherlock steals one back. Soon they’re kissing lazily while they rub their bodies together, all soft, slightly swollen lips and only hints of tongue.

John is the one to finally reach down and pull his cock out of his boxers. He fumbles briefly with the elastic on Sherlock’s tighter boxer briefs, but has them pushed down his lightly muscled thighs after a moment. When their erections finally rest together, naked on John’s belly, it seems to light a fuse in both of them. The teasing circles are gone and Sherlock starts a more purposeful rocking motion. There’s more pressure now, more heat between them. Their eyes catch and Sherlock makes a high, mewling noise that ends in a sob of pleasure. “ _John._ ”

“I know,” John whispers. “Shh. Quiet, but God, don’t stop.”

Sherlock pulls back so he can spit into his palm and rub it over the underside of his erection before taking them both in hand. John waits for the stroking sensation, but what he gets is the slide of Sherlock thrusting into his own fist, right up against John’s cock. It’s amazing. It feels so familiar and unlike anything else they’ve ever done at the same time. He feels a bit overwhelmed by it, which is silly, but he can’t get a hold of himself. Sherlock must feel it too, because it only takes a minute for his thrusting to get faster, the motions of his hips stronger. John can feel the other man’s fist on the outside of his right thigh, gripping the countertop so he can lean into it for leverage. They’re both panting, open mouthed and desperate, shaking with the effort of not moaning. It’s intense. It’s too much; he has to come.

John hooks his ankles around Sherlock’s legs, pressing his heels to the insides of his lover’s thighs so he has leverage to flex his hips back and forth. On that first dual thrust, neither one of them can keep from crying out. He throws his left hand over his own mouth and uses his right to pull Sherlock’s head down onto his shoulder, trying to encourage him to bite instead of scream. It’s poor damage control when the counter’s creaking, the toaster pops up behind him, and the glasses are clinking together in the cabinet above him, but John doesn’t notice. It’s only handful more of those hard thrusts before John’s coming, and just after that, with a sharp, choking gasp, so is Sherlock.

They sag against each other, just breathing and holding on after the intensity of what they just shared. John tips his head forward and rubs his lightly stubbled cheek against his lover’s smooth one. They’re so close he can feel Sherlock’s dewy eyelashes brush against his. He smiles.

A frustrated groan echos through the whole flat. A voice, roughed by both exhaustion and annoyance, calls through the door, “you have  _got_  to be kidding me. If you’re going to have sex without me and wake me up with your damn noise, the least you could do is wait until I finish wanking to it before you come.”

Every muscle frozen, totally mortified, John has no idea what to say. Sherlock presses his lips to the spot he was previously biting, trembling with poorly concealed laughter. John’s going to kill him.

“Hello? Will someone  _please_  come in here and help me with this so I can go back to sleep?”

On second thought… He tightens his hold on his fistful of curls at the back of Sherlock’s head and gently pulls until he groans and starts to follow the motion.

“You heard the man,” John murmurs to him. “I want to watch you suck him off. Then we’ll all go back to sleep; you can be in the middle if you want. When we all wake up again, you’re going to pay for this.”

Sherlock licks his lips, swallows, and nods. “ _Yes._ ”


End file.
